


Transcendent Cuteness

by spacewolfcub



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Crystal Swan, Energy Vampire, Happy Ending, M/M, Michael Schaefer (Derek Hale's Father), Non-Human Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash, READ ALL THE TAGS, Rated M for subject matter, Schrödinger's Dove, Steter Week, Steter Week 2019, Succubus/Incubus - Freeform, no update schedule
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-29
Updated: 2019-07-29
Packaged: 2020-07-25 11:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,661
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20025388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacewolfcub/pseuds/spacewolfcub
Summary: It was a blessing and a curse; it was just what he was.Mieczysław knew he was different. Some people were mundane and others supernatural. He didn't know, for most of his childhood, just how much of a target that made his family.But when it all changed, when the world seemed full of enemies, when he felt most alone... He gained his strongest ally.Written for Steter Week 2019, prompt: Creature!StilesPlease do read the tags.





	1. Geas

**Author's Note:**

> RATED FOR SUBJECT MATTER.  
No sexual contact happens. This is rated for violence that is not terribly graphic, angst, and the existence of sex-energy vampires. If you don't want to read pre-slash about a child that will grow up to be a sex-energy vampire, turn back now. 
> 
> AGE DIFFERENCE.  
Main pairing starts platonic in physicality but pre-slash in emotions, while one of the pair is very underage. Their ages are 15 years apart. It does not qualify for the Underage tag since no sexual contact happens. 
> 
> GOOGLE-TRANSLATED.  
Please take the non-English words used in this work in the spirit of imitation being the sincerest form of flattery, as they were meant. I don't speak Japanese at all. I don't speak French fluently. I only speak one single variant of Spanish. 
> 
> BETA.  
Deepest appreciation to [Peter Hale (RyloKen)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RyloKen/pseuds/Peter%20Hale) for sincere encouragement and conscientious concrit. Remaining grammatical errors are likely the author claiming artistic license, despite beta's strenuous objections.

He's smiling angelically up at the barista as she hands him the 'free sample' (that has somehow turned out to be the entire cinnamon roll) when a heavy hand lands on his shoulder.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, miss. I'll pay for that," promises Papa.

Mieczy tips his head all the way back and looks upside down at his papa, resting his head on the man's belly. Papa looks down and catches his gaze with a serious one of his own. Mieczy tries to sheepishly smile his way out of that one but...

Well, parents are immune to their children's powers.

* * *

"Mieczy, honey, are you listening to me?"

Mama's face looks all scrunched up and worried in that way that makes his insides twist up. Parents may be immune to their children but the reverse is not also true. It's not fair!

"It's dangerous, sweetheart. You only use Charm when it's important, or at least private."

"I was hungry. It _was_ important," Mieczy insists mulishly, kicking his heels against the kitchen counter atop which he's been cornered. This high up, he can't really avoid her eyes when she ducks down to demand eye contact. He's Ensnared.

"_Don't_ use Charm in public. I mean it. Hunters are not just a story I tell you to make you obey me, Mieczy. They're real and they're _dangerous_."

He nods helplessly, but deep inside he's fighting tooth and nail to throw off mama's geas. It's not that he doesn't believe her — he can read emotions as well as any other succubus, and she's sincerely terrified of these Hunters. It's just _against his nature_ to be the charmee instead of the charmer.

It irks.

* * *

He succeeds... He thinks. Or maybe the geas weakens over time; it takes years to even feel his Charm outside their family home. At least he's thrown off the geas enough that he can use it in public places as long as only one other person is present.

Not all who watch are living.

And there's a price to be paid for the breaking of a geas...

* * *

Mieczy wakes up being thrown over mama's shoulder. It's some dark time during the night and the world is wobbling madly as she runs down the stairs. It's not quite a proper fireman's carry, and he's much too large at ten years old to be carried like this — her shoulder is knocking all the air out from his lungs, digging into his diaphragm, and his feet are banging into everything as she tries to maintain her balance with the sudden doubling in her weight.

He would panic at being manhandled, but it's _his mama_ so he completely ignores his physical situation and casts out for a reason _she_ is so panicked that she won't let him run on his own now that he's certainly awake.

He feels one strange human, a weird mix of grim determination and roiling hate... Then nothing; mama's geas is in effect, there must be more than one n—

Mama screams in rage, spins and ducks, slamming Mieczysław low against the wall, she jerks twice, Mieczy's forearm burns suddenl—

He screams.

And screams, and screams...

He can feel them both. Mama's geas has fallen and there's only one way... One... The men fear for themselves for a second and then Mieczysław's Charm washes over them. He wants his mother back. He _demands_ his mother back. On pain of death _they shall give his mother back_.

Their baubles and protections were never meant for a child succubus' geas.

Two more shots ring out before the police sirens reach the house.


	2. Vow

The pouring rain seemed fitting, even if it made everything about walking out to the gravesite a precarious balancing act. 

There had been people in and out all over the place, and Mieczy had been too... Numb, to try to Charm anyone. It wasn't necessary anyway; everyone was giving them everything freely, a small community coming together in the face of senseless violence. 

Armed invasion of a family home. Sheriff deputy and librarian; fine, upstanding members of the community. Young child nearly orphaned, witness to a parent's murder then a murder-suicide. Terrible, terrible stuff. 

They had no way of knowing it was his fault. 

"Thank you for coming. Really appreciate it. Thank you for your support. Thank you," papa's voice droned on and on beside him, while Mieczy stared at the mud splattered on his borrowed dress shoes. Someone had found formal wear roughly in his size he could wear to the funeral. Now it was over, and everyone was trickling away. 

He was lucky, really, that the Hunters had been following a version of their so-called Code. They had seen papa as a victim of a succubus that was using him to breed more of her kind, and had 'compassionately' tied him up (mostly) unharmed at the very back of the yard. While they murdered his family. Papa had been out of range of Miezcy's Charm, so he was not under geas to resurrect mama or die. He could've been, so easily... 

The bouquet in his hand became sticky as it was crushed, the sharpest parts bit into his flesh and made him bleed when his fists clenched convulsively. Some busybodies had tried to tell him what he'd picked from mama's garden was not proper — they wanted him to pick beautiful decorative flowers. 

They had very suddenly needed water for dry throats, and by the time of the funeral they had to beg off as a vicious case of strep throat seemed to strike. All three of them. At the same time. Papa had waved them on and given Mieczy significant side-eye. He had probably not said anything because he, too, was tired of those vultures trying to snag the attention of the most eligible newly-available local man in their age range. 

No sense in wasting the blood he was spilling. He left the little shelter at the edge of the main path and walked back toward the grave. The rain had soaked right through him, but it helpfully hid his tears. 

He was lucky, really, that whatever information the Hunters had obtained about the family had made it seem that Mieczy was already into puberty. They'd been unprepared and that's the only reason Mieczy had survived. 

He crouched by the spot where the gravestone would go once the ground settled. He used to like the smells of fresh-turned earth, broken grass, and rain. It'd be a while before he would take comfort in those again. 

If only he had not broken mama's geas, they'd never have been found. His mother would be alive. His father would not be heart-broken. And he would not be alone in a town full of humans. 

Nosy, ignorant humans; criticizing his choice of mourning bouquet because they had no idea how important correspondences were to the supernatural, trampling through their home with their selfish and inappropriate emotions, weakening the threshold at home with their fear, leaving food poisoned with negativity in their fridge. They weren't even malicious, for the most part. He just felt so alone. 

Marigold for pain and grief; mama grew it to discourage pests in the garden. Rosemary for remembrance, wormwood for absence and bitter sorrow; mama had many medicines masquerading as just more greenery in the lush tidy rows of her yard. Aloe again for grief; though in mama's yard it had been a symbol of her love despite Mieczy's recalcitrance in doing as he'd been told and wearing sunscreen. 

Could she forgive him, this time? Love him even if...? 

He reached out to finally let go of the plants, making an offering of his blood and these symbols of his sorrow and regret, when the jacket sleeve dragged over the bandages hiding the bullet furrow in his arm. He hesitated. 

Did he owe her more? Should he atone, to show his true repentance for being a disobedient son? 

Mama had always taken the safety of her family so seriously. She had driven out over an hour to the next big town to keep an ear out in the supernatural community, because she didn't want to develop ties with locals in case Hunters came by. She never took Mieczysław. He didn't even know if there _were_ others like him in town and didn't know how to find them. At least she'd taught him enough to know what he was. 

To know how to do this. 

He deliberately cut his fingers on the sharpest aloe spikes and used blood-stained fingers to break up his bouquet into small pieces that would neatly fit a spiral. The humans would think it was childish art, one last act of devotion for a mother told in flowers over her grave. If Hunters were around... Well, they would already know what he was. With Papa's job it'd be difficult to run away and easy to track them through human paperwork. 

Fragrant green spiral finished, orange and crimson limply clinging on even after the rain had relented, he spoke his vow. 

_Ego venabuntur eos qui venari innocentes_. 

His blood ran like a living thing off the spiral and soaked into the earth of the grave. 

The sudden flare of surprise so near him made his head snap up. There was a man leaning against a nearby tree, spying on Mieczy even as the townspeople were all nearly gone. It was reflex to smile, even if his eyes were sore and burning. It was reflex to Charm, be just a lovely child and obliterate any other impressions before they became long-term memories. 

The man wobbled in place; perhaps Mieczy had gone overboard. The man sought to make eye contact again, while his mind felt like motion and tasted something like fascination. _Dammit!_ The man had fought it off. Was the humid air so effective at dispersing Mieczy's pheromones? Was it the breeze in the open air? Mieczy didn't know, he didn't have years of practice under his belt because of mama's geas. 

He got up quickly and jogged to the relative protection of human witnesses and his own papa, though he was loathe to put him in the crossfire again if this should be another Hunter. Slipping and sliding in the mud, he reached the small tent and hid his bloodied hands in his trouser pockets. Mieczy huddled awkwardly against his papa's side and tried to look back at his stalker. 

The man was walking among the flowers around mama's grave and picking out bits from one arrangement... As long as he left Mieczysław's spiral and papa's bouquet alone, it didn't matter. Everyone else's flowers meant nothing deliberate, clearly chosen for their death-aesthetic; white ones mostly. 

Papa tucked an arm around him and pulled him in too-tight for a moment, then reluctantly let go. Mieczy was careful to not take the offered energy; right now papa really could not spare it. The priest and the undertaker's attendant were the last left under the little tent. The priest mumbled some more, clearly used to being ignored by the grieving but wanting to fully complete his duties. 

Mieczy turned back to stare at the grave but it was deserted now. Whomever the man was— 

A hand landed on his head, gently wobbled for a moment. Mieczy sipped carefully from what was offered, because it truly was a comfort. The hand belonged to the priest, one of the few people today to really mean his sympathy and compassion. A momentary trace of fear, and the hand retreated. The priest knew all too well to not touch children, it seemed. 

They began walking back to the parking lot. The undertaker's assistant, a boy no older than Mieczy, started taking down the tent. The priest led the way and papa pretended to listen. Mieczy lagged behind. 

It didn't feel right to just... Just _leave her_ there like that... 

He started shaking, but nobody was looking at him. He looked back at her grave, hidden by trees now. He had his vow. He would bring her news so she would know her death was the beginning of many innocents being protected, _not_ a failure to protect her own innocent. He would remember his vow, and remember her. He would. 

Nearly tripping over a tuft of grass sticking out where he expected flat packed dirt, he turned to follow papa, and instead found the man from before walking up to him. Not quite blocking the way between Mieczy and papa, but... 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation of vow: I will hunt those that hunt innocents.


	3. Deal

"Chōetsu kawai-sa." The man bowed low and Mieczy dared to breathe. He had the cultural background entirely wrong but that _was_ the name given to the Charm of young succubi in some cultures. Transcendent Cuteness. 

Could this be an ally? Mieczy smiled pleasantly and without a trace of Charm. 

Well, conscious Charm. The man's emotions went the lightest of blues with relief and thrummed with pleasure — Mieczy had felt people thrum like that when kittens and puppies were in their arms. 

"I'm Peter Stuart Hale." Whose eyes glimmered amber, apparently. 

Definitely supernatural, more likely to be an ally, and quite respectful so far... And... And bearing a small, symbolic bouquet, fruits of his grave-side botanical thievery. Blood-stained for binding, fern for fascination, heliotrope for devotion, white heather for protection. 

Mieczy tried to remember how to breathe. 

A name, a secret, a promise. Three true gifts freely given. 

Not an ally, then, _a suitor_. He could not take a devotee until he matured but... More protection and energy than papa could offer would be, would be... 

"Stiles!" Papa's voice came from far away. 

Mieczy's head whipped around. Dad was jogging over and starting to pick up speed. 

"Stiles?" Peter asked, a note of uncertainty in his mind. 

"Accipio," he rushed out, blushing prettily and putting his hand on Peter's. He let his bloodied fingertips mark the cuff of Peter's dark shirt, sent some of his energy where their skin touched, and corrected, "Mieczysław Ashley Stilinski." 

Peter flushed with pleasure and lost control of his shift for a moment, eyes turning amber as he stared entranced at Mieczy. 

Blood, energy, and a true name freely given. Using blood as both binding and gift was a bit cheaty but it would serve. Mieczy held the flowers close as Peter turned to meet the irate man bearing down on them. 

"Mr. Hale." 

_Wow_... Papa really did not like him. 

"Deputy Stilinski, a pleasure as always. I just wanted to offer my services, should young... Stiles, need them." 

Blue. His suitor's eyes were a calm, clear blue. Mieczy smiled. 

"And why would he?" 

Ow! Papa was going to throttle him if he gripped his neck any harder. Stupid formalwear. 

"Our family was quite puzzled about why... A certain element would have targeted your family. I have recently learned you have a rare treasure in your care." Peter looked down at Mieczy to indicate which treasure he meant. 

Their eyes happened to meet, Mieczy smiled goofily — Peter got caught in his gaze with an answering smile. 

"Eyes. Up. Here." How was Papa able to see out of eyes squinted that far? "_Young_ Stiles won't be needing _those_ services for a good many years, yet." 

_Rude_. He wasn't _that_ much of a child. It could happen next year. It could, really. 

"Of course not!" 

Peter was really quite good at faking outrage. Really, if Mieczysław couldn't feel how unimpressed he really was about the turn in the conversation, he might believe the façade of offended nobility. The low key amusement was a sentiment Mieczy shared; those who sought sexual contact with immature succubi... Well. There was a thin line between succubi and incubi. 

"Well, then?" 

And... Papa was digging his heels in. Feet planted apart, arms crossed high, chin up. He'd better step in and fix this. 

"Papa, I've accepted him as my suitor not my devotee." 

"You've _accepted?_" Papa spluttered. "_When?_" 

Mieczy held up his small bouquet. 

Papa turned funny colours. 


	4. Desiccate

_That could have gone better._

Papa had slammed everything around since they'd left the cemetery. Hours ago. The doors, the bags, his keys, his jacket, the cushions... 

Stiles ghosted around the house, vibrating with the need to do something (anything) to not notice mama was... Not around. 

It seemed Peter was _known_ to local law enforcement. 

What they had not known, is that Peter was a werewolf helping defend pack territory. He'd often taken the blame for the legal misdeeds of other pack members so as to keep the pack out of Hunters' radar — one man in a family with questionable civil obedience and sketchy connections is mundane, a family where multiple generations routinely engage in physical discussions in the woods with a varied and colorful cast of outlaws, though... That'd _scream_ 'werewolf pack'. 

Once papa cooled down, he'd think to be grateful the Hales had tanked the damage. The sheriff's office could have lost a lot of people over the years trying to apprehend apparent criminals with supernatural strength, or healing, or who knew what power. 

At the moment, he was too pissed off to think clearly. He could only see a grown man approaching his young son who would one day grow up to be a sexual energy vampire. 

_Ugh. Mundane taboos are_ the worst. 

He went into the basement and dug out the portable dehydrator, took out some middle racks to make space, and put in his suitor's gift to be dried and preserved. It would be one of his most important possessions until they had a true succubus-devotee bond. 

_It's gonna take all evening though..._

He threw himself into a corner of the couch and fiddled with a pen caught in the cushions. He'd spent hours down here every day. This was where they did his home-school work, had long talks about the supernatural that papa was not meant to overhear, and where he hung out just to nibble a little on mama's residual energy. 

She was generous like that, just radiating into her environment, because she'd trained in reiki so she could channel _Ki_. It wouldn't help feed her, but it'd help absolutely everyone else around her — succubi made for very good _Ki_ conduits. It replenished papa after feeding her, and it would feed immature succubi, too. 

_Even more of a reason to have a suitor, really. I don't want to drain papa_. 

Papa could feed him for now, but between grieving and not having someone to replenish him... He could end up seriously ill if he was the only provider for Mieczy. 

_Stiles..._

Dust motes danced in the still, cold air of the basement. The dehydrator hummed away. The floor above creaked a bit as papa moved around. 

They were both calling him 'Stiles' now; the two most important people in his life. Peter had just been going along with papa's nickname, but it'd been a long conversation and it was pretty much set as his new name. It was probably just as well that random strangers wouldn't really know any of his true names, anyway. 

But it hurt. _It burned_ that a part of his identity had sort of been stolen by the Hunters. That, his mother, his peaceful life... 

He couldn't be home-schooled anymore, not by a single parent and him too young to be left home alone. He'd have to go wade among the vicious crowds of public schooling. 

_Fuck... Well, if I'm gonna worry at least let's make it productive_. 

Stiles grabbed a mangled pad of paper gathering dust under the side table and began lists all over the page haphazardly. 

> Things Peter could do: home tutoring, babysitting, cuddling, swim lessons, learn reiki... 

_He might already know how to do that, if the first philosophy that came to his mind was far-eastern... He won't have time to do all this, though. He's got his own life_. 

Stiles crossed out home tutoring, then hesitated. The rest they might fit in after school or on weekends. 

> Things we have to do: register me in classes, schedule housework, professionally smudge the room... 

_We're never going to eat there again. Ugh. Even walking by makes your skin crawl_. 

> ... turn downstairs linen closet into hallway, brick off dining room, buy a new house, move mama's garden to new house... 

_Yeah, no. Real world to Mieczy, come in Mie— Stiles. We can't handle the stress or the expense of something like that right now. Suck it up and deal_. 

> Is Peter a good suitor? 
> 
> Yes: he has an entire pack to help protect me, he has an entire pack to cuddle with. No: werewolves are magnets for serious fighting. Yes: werewolves heal from all kinds of fighting better than a human would. Maybe: are werewolves immune to being drained by succubi? 

He'd have to make a proper list of questions and meet the wolfpack or at least their lore keeper. 

> Things to help— 

The mission? Hunt? Nah, it'd be a red flag if papa's coworkers ever saw it lying around. Speaking of red flags... This entire page and likely the pad would have to be burnt, there was too much already on it that wasn't fit for accidental public consumption. 

Jittery, Stiles set the pad by mama's bunsen burner and wandered upstairs. He'd have to ask papa to help with that, later. 

He cleaned and bandaged his cuts from the day; just scratches were left by now, really. Grabbed a can of coke, walked outside with it. 

_No, best not hurt mama's plants with this vibe_. 

Walked back inside. Accidentally almost walked through the dining room, recoiled so hard he lost a kidney backing up into the counter's edge, looked at all the casseroles in the fridge. Slammed the fridge door on the miasma of residual 'taking' emotions in there. Thrummed his way past the living room on his way up to his room, took the half full glass out of his sleeping papa's hand. Got stuck on the first step up. 

_I have to feed... I _have_ to... It's never been this bad, it's— I have to get out, papa's here. Oh my god, _papa is alone with me_ and I am starving_. 

He ran out of the house blindly. He had to save his father... 

From Stiles himself. 


	5. Devour

Stiles ran down the street, past the homes of people he knew and into the part of town he'd never been in alone. 

He had no idea how to do this. 

He couldn't just hug a tree to death, like an incubus might. He couldn't _take_ the energy, it had to be given. _Freely_ given, at that. He couldn't charm anyone into it. 

He couldn't just stand on the sidewalk all evening, though, so he started walking in the direction most cars were headed. Houses gave way to small shops and apartment buildings, then a strip mall. 

Children ran outside a fast food place shrieking; excellent targets brimming with extra energy, except for how not a single one of them would give a drop. Children were bottomless leeches — he didn't see much difference between them and incubi, except he supposed human children did eventually grow out of it. It was the main reason he'd never been sent to school, though he had been socialized in smaller groups. 

By the time he reached a scruffy park, Stiles was shaking too bad to keep walking. He let his legs collapse and drop him right there on grass by the sidewalk. God, _god_, he was going to starve to death right here and his papa would be left alone and Peter would think Stiles had chosen to die rather than feed from him and his vow would be unfinished and _everything would be ruined_— 

A cold nose poked into his hand, then a small furry body climbed into his lap, leash trailing. Stiles ran his fingers through the puppy's fur and it turned unsteadily around to lick his chin. The puppy yipped, tumbled over, jumped back up... It was safe to have a bit, just a bit... She had so much to spare... 

"Rooooooxy!" A teenager ran around the corner looking wildly around. "Hey!" 

They'd been sighted. Stiles soaked in the love faster. By the time the boy ran halfway down the block to them, Roxy was cozily curled up in Stiles' lap, completely tuckered out. 

Panting, the boy stood in front of Stiles, hands on knees. "I'm so glad you found her... Been... I've been taking care o' her... Prove I can, so I can adopt her for real, you know?" He nodded to himself. 

Stiles stood up, puppy tucked against his chest. "Sure, yeah. I'm sorry, she kinda fell asleep. You're gonna have to carry her?" 

The boy stuck his hand out for a shake. "I'm Scott." 

"Stiles." He timidly offered his hand, dreading the drain and losing the precious energy the puppy had gifted him. 

"Oh, hey, you crying? What's wrong, man?" 

Right at this moment? Stiles was dizzy from a strange sort of whiplash. He might have been crying before Roxy got there, or in relief after he fed, but right now Scott had gone from the usual drain of all children to an outpouring of concern Stiles couldn't even block out. 

He hastily took his hand back, tried to pass it off as not letting Roxy fall. Ducked his head to hide the furious flush of vitality, let it be taken for embarrassment. 

"Yeah, uh, we... We buried, uh..." There really was no good way to tell someone about this. Stiles didn't even want to _think_ about it. 

"Oh, you're the cop's son. I'm so sorry, man. That... That was truly shitty." 

"Yeah." Not much more to be said about it, really. 

"So, listen, it's kinda late? Do you... Want to come over to my place, phone home to get a ride? I don't want to just leave you out here alone. I mean, I owe you, 'cause you saved my dog from being eaten by coyotes if she stayed out, right?" 

"Uh, right." First his dog literally scraped Stiles' off the floor and then the boy fed him like it wasn't a big deal at all? Sure, lives were saved tonight but it went both ways. 

So Stiles carried the puppy, careful to not drain her anymore. They walked for a while (apparently runaway puppies cover a lot of ground), and finally turned up an alley and into the yard of a large suburban home. Scott opened the back door and Stiles froze. 

The place reeked like 'taking'. Something or someone that frequented the place was draining the energy out of everyone. He couldn't think of any way to turn away without raising suspicion so Stiles followed when Scott led the way in. 

Scott visibly wilted as he took off his shoes and jacket, peeked warily into the living room, called out for his mama, offered Stiles water, showed him to the phone. Stiles had been clinging to Roxy as a sort of shield in case anyone tried to touch him or shake his hand, but they were alone. So, Scott took her and Stiles made his call. 

If he sounded a little scared, a little urgent, on the phone... Maybe everyone would pass it off as him being 'young'. 


	6. Socialize

This was ridiculous! 

"Peter, it's just meeting the family!" Talia took away the stack of dishes he'd just gathered up from the table. 

Plain white tablecloth. Seriously?! It's like they didn't even care to make a good impression. Peter fumed and watched his alpha put the dishes back. 

"He'll be more comfortable if we keep everything casual." 

"This _isn't_ a casual occasion!" Peter threw both hands in the air. 

"Did you get mated when I wasn't looking?" Her accusing words would be chilling (What kind of wolf would mate without telling their alpha? A mutinous one, that's who) if it weren't for the utterly _infuriating_ smug tilt to her smile. 

"Of course not," he managed to grind out. 

She'd put him on his back for that kind of insolent tone most days. Today? Today, watching him be a nervous wreck was apparently enough to keep her in a good mood. She smiled breezily as she swanned off to the kitchen to ruin more of his plans. 

He couldn't take it. 

Couldn't! 

Take it! 

He went out to the porch to do a final sweep. Well, he'd done one, but this was the final-final sweep. Okay, things looked fine, nothing 'wolfy' left lying around. Derek's half-chewed mountain of sticks had been shoveled into the wood shed as kindling, nobody's clothes were left lying around after a shift... 

Peter sniffed. How sensitive was Stiles' nose? Would the porch corners being marked bother him?? Peter stood staring at one of the offending corners for several long minutes. He could try to rinse it off, but it'd spark off a whole lecture and fight about den safety... To be fair, Talia would be right. But what if Stiles hated it? 

Argh! 

He went back inside and checked all of Cora's chew toys were put away (honestly she was too old for them but Talia and Michael wanted to keep their little cub as long as they could). 

Peter wasn't _ashamed_ of being a werewolf, far from it. But his— Stiles'— His Stiles' remaining family was really very mundane and Peter didn't want the man to become more of an obstacle. He had acted like Peter was about to ravage the child right there on the cemetery lawn! 

_Honestly!_

Everybody knew that having sex with an immature social vampire of any sort would end in a quick but painful death. 

Sexual contact rendered the mind as well as the body vulnerable, and that went both ways. Rapists thought only to force the victim to be vulnerable against their will, so they could feel less insecure about being miserable failures, but they left themselves as vulnerable. Rape was about power, not sex, and in such power games social vampires would always have the last say. 

So even if Peter had been... _Uninformed_... Stiles would have been only in very short-term danger. 

Although... Yes, well, it was quite pleasing to think his Stiles untouched by such negative experiences. When they mated, Peter could introduce him to everything properly; he'd much prefer Stiles to have positive associations with the way he would ultimately feed. Unless he was not that kind of vamp, of course. But feed he would, and hopefully he'd choose Peter. 

And for that they had to make a good impression. 

Peter stormed into the kitchen and double checked everything. He had wanted to plate things, but Michael had argued that Peter was the one person that could not be absent from the meeting so long between courses. He'd offered to pay for catering but Talia had set her ugly department-store stiletto down — there wouldn't be strangers wandering about inside the den, handling their food. He saw her point, he really did, just... Passing bowls around the table was so... 

Unimpressive. 

He wanted to show Stilinski that the Hale pack could provide not just security but also any physical needs Stiles might have. The gift! 

Peter ran upstairs and grabbed the little box he'd left on his windowsill soaking up moonlight last night. He had wanted to gift Stiles a proper bouquet —social vamps were very sensitive to subtle communication methods like flowers or imbued emotions— but it'd be silly to gift him flowers only for them to wilt throughout dinner. Then he'd wanted to buy his Stiles jewelry, but a child so young really couldn't go about wearing anything showy. 

So he'd rush-ordered the tiniest orange blossom trapped in clear resin in a small gold circular pendant (with chain, of course). Then cleansed it as soon as it arrived and spent most of the night meditating with it by moonlight. 

He was trying to decide whether or not to pick it up until the last moment so it wouldn't soak up too much of his worry, when the last moment arrived, making the debate a moot point. He snapped the box closed and pocketed it, then ran downstairs. 

* * *

With all decorum due her station as family alpha, Talia turned toward the front doors as soon as she heard an unknown vehicle start the trip down the long driveway. 

She had barely walked into the foyer when her mate arrived with all the decorum of his station as alpha's mate — none at all, apparently. Michael shouldered his way among the children already plastered to the window with the curtains for hats. Really, they were all terribly excited that their emotionally maladroit uncle Peter had maybe found someone willing to look past his rougher side and appreciate the loyal and generous core of him. 

Steps reached the front doors and suddenly everyone was scrambling off the bay window and right into the front of the foyer. Talia was still reaching for Cora to pull her back when Peter snarled at the children viciously but silently. 

A deep, deep core. Very deep. 

Talia changed trajectory and scruffed Peter by his pretentious merino jacket, setting him to stand a civilized distance from the door. A single glance confirmed the children had obeyed their uncle and backed up clear across the foyer to crowd around their rubbernecking father. 

Sighing, she opened the door and smiled pleasantly at the people on her doorstep. "You must be the Stilinskis?" 

"That we are, ma'am. Noah Stilinski, pleasure to meet you." Ah, Stiles must be a short version of his surname. He was older than she thought Peter would go for, with his authority problems. A very handsome man, though. Talia felt she recognized him from somewhere and in relation to Peter, too. But hadn't Peter said they'd only just met? 

"Talia Hale — likewise. Please do come in." They shook hands and she gestured them in. She was only turning to the young teen by his side when the child walked right past her and continued on into the house. Well. Children these d— 

"Hi, Peter." That was the sweetest voice she had ever heard, the most adoring eyes she'd ever seen, the prettiest flush to the child's cheeks, the... 

The... 

The rose aura of a social vampire of some sort. 

Talia closed the door and blinked herself free of the glancing blow of his magic. Not intense enough to be deliberate, but a creature so young might not have full control yet. And, really, he'd only lost control when he'd begun interacting with Peter, so that was the one person whose good opinion he wanted. For a social vamp, that was quite honest. 

"Stiles," Peter breathed like a prayer. 

That... Was Stiles? Of _course_ Peter couldn't be trusted to make a sane, _normal_ choice for a prospective mate. Talia pasted on a grim smile and looked at Mr. Stilinski for his reaction. He looked resigned and smelled hostile, but did not seem aware of what his child's magic was doing. Mundane then, but aware of his son's true nature. 

"Oh my gawwwwwwd!" 

Talia's head whipped around just in time to see Cora wrap the vamp into a hug, snuggling him head and shoulders and cooing praise into the cowlick in his buzzcut. At just eleven she was much too young to be able to shake off the vamp aura. 

"You're the cuuuuutest cutie that _ever_ cuted oh mah _gaaaaaawd!"_

Talia was about ready to yank her child away, lest she be drained dry, but Mr. Stilinski was at least aware of the potential for danger and gently pried his child loose and away. He tried to keep Cora's attention by shaking her hand but he didn't let go of Stiles. 

"Hi, there. I'm the cutie's father, Mr. Stilinski. Is this your father over here?" 

Stiles, who... Was looking pale and unsteady as hell. The beautiful flush of moments ago replaced with an almost grey sheen. 

A succubus, then. 

Well... That was okay, then. They could work around that. 

Cora now seemed to snap back to normal and seemed confused by her previous effusiveness, but gamely turned to introduce the rest of the family. 

Peter went to one knee by Stiles, and offered his hand. His gaze was just as adoring now as it had been when Stiles had been 'casting. 

Talia took a deep breath. _Well, then. This thing might be real_. 

Stiles squirmed out of his father's hold and into Peter's lap, tucking his face into Peter's neck and relaxing very obviously once Peter tightened arms around him and nuzzled his face into Stiles' temple. 

Talia herded everyone else into the living room. Dragging his feet, even Mr. Stilinski joined them there. 

* * *

Peter held his Stiles close and felt a strange calm settle over him. This satisfaction that he could provide what was needed, the trust shown to him that he _would_ provide... No caveats, no suspicious glances, just... 

He felt a little drunk on it. Would have purred, if wolves could. 

Nuzzling into Stiles, scenting him, was just so satisfying he needed to check and make sure he wasn't actually draining Stiles instead of feeding him. Concerned, he leaned back to look into his Stiles' face. 

A shy smile, a coy look, and rosy cheeks greeted him. 

"You're not wasting that energy trying to charm me? Are you?" 

Stiles' face said he was stopping to check, then with wounded pride: "_No_." 

"Well, good. No need to; I'm already yours." 

The boy looked torn between arguing and preening. Yes, it would be quite an achievement for an immature social vamp to gain the loyalty of an adult willing to feed them at present and in the future. What he probably didn't know was what a catch it was to get a werewolf — the full moon glut would last them both most of the month, probably. Peter would show him next week, anyway. 

Stiles settled on looking just a little smug even as he squirmed where he sat on Peter's lap. 

Peter drew the little jewelry box out of his pocket and offered it with a smile. 

Gorgeous, playful, devious. Stiles opened it barely sparing a glance, choosing instead to study Peter's eyes in great detail. "Thank you," he whispered. 

Seemed sincere to Peter's senses, but also not directed at the present he'd worked so hard for. Somehow... Peter was quite all right with that. He tightened the hand around Stiles' waist, keeping him securely on Peter's lap, and used his other hand to bring the boy's face in close for more nuzzling. 

Really, if this alone was how Stiles would feed, Peter would still be quite thrilled to do it the rest of his life. 

A soft gasp drew his attention to Stiles' hand, gold chain now woven through its fingers and holding the small pendant close to his face. It really was a very small blossom, he would need to be that close to tell what it was. Innocence, eternal love, lifetime commitment and fruitfulness. The flower implied many things and... Peter really didn't know if there were any of those he did _not_ mean. He had surprised himself by the choice, but... Faint heart, and all that. 

Stiles' eyes sought his, incredulous. 

"May I?" Peter gestured at the necklace. "I've a spell, so only you or I can take it off. If... If you'd like. That." 

Stiles slid off his lap and knelt before him, sitting back on his heels and bowing his head, lifting up the necklace in offering. 

Peter somehow kept it together enough to do the spell right, watching the chain magically shorten to a comfortable choker length and the closures disappear. He wobbled for a moment, or perhaps he lost time. Eventually he realized he was still on one knee and rose up, helped his boy up, joined everyone else, introduced the pack... 

There were... Words, people, food... He stole a bit of time for cuddles toward the end. But most of all, through it all there was Stiles, his Stiles. His boy, smiling. His. 

And he was Stiles'. 

  
  
  
FINI. 


End file.
